


You Deserve To Know

by DanteSKrauser



Category: Marvel, Marvel: Ultimate Alliance (Video Game), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Awesome Steve Rogers, Declarations Of Love, Dirty Talk, Emotional Carol Danvers, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Grieving Peter Parker, Love, Love Confessions, Love/Hate Banter, Mentioned Character Death, Mentions of Civil War (Comics), Mild Hurt/Comfort, Posthumous Recording, Sassy Janet Van Dyne, Sensual Dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanteSKrauser/pseuds/DanteSKrauser
Summary: Carol is struggling with her feelings towards fellow Avenger Steve Rogers. She jolts out of bed and decides to create a posthumous recording for the Sentinel of Liberty, deeming herself too cowardly to proclaim three simple words towards one of the greatest men alive. In between the process, she reminisces about notable events in their lives. (Part of my MUA-3009 universe)
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Steve Rogers, Clint Barton/Janet Van Dyne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. You Deserve To Know

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am once again! This isn't going to be a long story. Just a little tale of Carol Danvers basically asking herself, "Do I love Steve or not?" Enjoy the latest one-shot!

Her eyelids abruptly opened up as her corporeal form experienced a sudden surge of restlessness. Her left arm outstretches towards the blue LED alarm clock perched atop the dresser stationed at the right side of their bed. As her hand grabs the cube-shaped device, the electronical digits read off as 4:49 AM. Placing the clock back to its original spot, Avengers Co-Captain Carol Danvers gently removes the covers off her form, slowly slips off the right edge of the king-sized mattress and strolls her way out of the bedroom, but not before plucking her smartphone off the dresser in addition to stealing a glance of her sleeping lover and fellow Avengers leader, Steve Rogers.

Upon entry of the living room, Carol, adorned only in cerulean blue leggings and a green and white Boston Basketball sports bra, takes a seat on a black three-cushion couch, with Chewie fast asleep across the left side. Scrolling around her smartphone’s touch screen, she found a voice recording app and pushed on its wavelength symbol with her index finger, gaining entry. With the red recording button on display, she taps it with her thumb and lays her phone on the glass coffee table. Taking one deep breath of oxygen, Carol slowly exhales and begins unveiling the thoughts that have been pervading her mind for weeks.

“Date of recording: Shit, it doesn’t matter. Steve, if you’re receiving this message, then I am likely among the deceased. Alternatively, I’m staring at the face of death. Anyway, there’s been something gnawing away at my mind for a long time. It’s been a subtle process that dates back to when we first hooked up. These feelings were amplified when Crossbones tried to murder you a while back. Now, about the time when I forcefully sheltered you inside Avengers Tower, sorry about that. I was batshit paranoid about your well-being. Moving on…

“I’m not sure what to make of all this. Yes, we do things that normal couples do: Movie theater outings, candlelight dinners, attending sports events, and amusement park visitations, among other activities. Oh, and don’t get me started about the sex. I don’t give a shit if you’re hopped up on super steroids, you’re a fucking superbeast in the bedroom! My goddamn ovaries are getting wet just thinking about your impressive, patriotic penis.

“I love how we generally get along so well, beyond the bedroom I should add. But we’ve had our conflicts as well, and we still do. I’m sorry you have to hear this, but I’m absolutely convinced that the Superhuman Registration Act was the right course of action for this great country we both live in. Carefully mandated regulations of superhuman activity would’ve ensured the safety of our civilians, thus preventing unnecessary, volatile tragedies such as Stamford from ever happening again. In retrospective selfishness, it would’ve also prevented your pending incarceration and untimely death. We weren’t becoming thugs for the government; we would’ve all been committing a tremendous service for this nation, and we may have steered towards a better tomorrow. You and I will forever debate this contentious topic ‘til we drop on the floor in exhaustion. Though it’s now a bygone era, I shall proudly stand by the protective principles of the SRA until the day I die. But that’s not the worst conflict between us, Mr. Rogers. Nope, nope, nope.”

Carol’s eyebrows scrunch together. Her nose crinkles. Her lips purse into a sour pout. “Fuck New York sports teams. Fuck New York sports smack dab in the asshole! In baseball, it’s always a see-saw battle between our squads. But I have such agonizing memories in American football. That New York football fucker Nelson Williams costed us two championships! Those two rings belong not only to Boston Football, but football’s greatest player in existence: That gorgeous, sexy specimen of a man called Eddie Patrick! Um, second only to you of course, Stevie. He’s got six titles while your precious Nelson only has two! What do you have to say about that? Yet between the two of us, I’m the insufferable sports fan. Your compassionate nature transcends into even trivial matters like sports. Not long ago, when my Boston Hockey team lost its bid for a championship, I scampered out of the watch party held in Avengers Tower’s recreational room, busted into our suite and fell onto our couch face first. As I was crying my ass off, a pair of hands grabbed ahold of my shoulders and lightly massaged them. I wasted no time rising off our couch, encircled my arms around your back and buried my face in your thick chest, continuously crying my eyes out. I’m notorious amongst the Avengers for being the biggest braggart for my beloved athletic teams, so I was half-expecting you to poke fun at my moment of championship humiliation. You remained true to genuine form; You rubbed my back, stroked the world’s best faux hawk, and told me all the right things such as ‘ _They did their best’, ‘Boston had one amazing season’,_ and _‘They’ll rebound from this heart wrenching loss and return to the playoffs next season.’_ That moment of consolation reminded me of the aftermath of our confrontation in Knowhere, when I nearly murdered you as an indoctrinated slave for Ebony Maw. Stevie, you’re so encouraging and empathetic. Those traits are among several reasons why I… I…”

Carol cups her mouth briefly with her right hand as tears trickle down her cheeks from her hazel eyes. After sniffling a few times, she resumed her overnight recording. “I fucking love you, Cap. Damn it all, I love you. I’m not sure if you ever knew that. If you didn’t, I’m sorry you found out via audio recording. I’m such a scaredy cat for never telling you my deepest feelings directly to your face. Gee, I’ve got enough testicular fortitude to fight Kang the Conqueror, Thanos and large alien fleets, but I can’t tell the greatest guy in my life three simple words. My codename shouldn’t be Captain Marvel nor Ms. Marvel: It should be Private Chickenshit.

“But that’s what I wanted to get off my chest. Tomorrow is never guaranteed, not even for superhumans like us. I may never be courageous enough to tell you my true feelings face to face, so this may be the only way you find out. I’m truly blessed to have known you, Steve Rogers. Good bye, and I love you.”

Upon completion of her monologue, Captain Marvel tapped the red button once again and the recording process had ceased.

“Carol? Carol? Carebear, are you okay?” The groggy-laced voice of Captain America lightly vibrated within the living room as he emerged from their bedroom, dressed only in white sweatpants. Carol pivoted her head over her left shoulder, her gaze landing on the form of the World War 2 veteran. She rose from the couch, walked around the stationary mattress and encroached his position, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Hey Cap, I’m doing alright. I was feeling restless, so I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“Why not, Carol?” Steve inquired softly.

“ _Because I love you and I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you those words,”_ was what she wanted to say. Instead, an alibi slipped out of her plush, pink lips. “It’s insomnia, I guess.”

Steve examined her facial features and noticed a tinge of red on her cheeks as well as her eyes. “Have you been crying?”

Carol sheepishly nodded. “Yep, I was weeping like a bitch.”

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Another lie was verbally conjured by the prideful Bostonian. “I had another nightmare involving that self-righteous asshole, Marcus.”

Using his fingers to smoothen Carol’s shoulder blades in circular motions, Steve responded, “I despise talking about that monster, especially at this ungodly hour. But I’ve always told you that whenever you have nightmares, wake me up so I can help you collect your thoughts and get you back to sleep. And don’t you dare label yourself a burden or an annoyance. Self-deprecation isn’t what Captain Marvel’s known for.”

Carol pecked his ample pectoral muscles before standing on her tiptoes, pressing her lips onto his. Pulling away, she leered into his ocean blue eyes as her mouth curled into a cocky grin. “I think you’re right. You, the other Avengers, the X-Men, the Midnight Sons and everyone else in our enormous alliance should be honored in having the privilege of fighting alongside the baddest bitch in the universe.”

Ruffling her floppy mop of honey-blond hair with his fingers, Steve caressed his forehead on Carol’s, flashing a smile of his own. “THAT’S the Carol Danvers I know. Now that we’re both up, what do you say we do a few exercises together in the training room?”

“Sure thing, Stevie. But first let me brush up, shower, and gel up my hair into an awesome faux hawk. Sorry, but you can’t join me now. Maybe after our workout sessions, however…”

Steve groaned in playful, feigned disappointment.

“While I’m showering, can you get our fitness attires ready for a quick slip-on? Thanks, old man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will put in a bonus chapter as precursors for future events regarding other Marvel heroes. Thanks for reading!


	2. Prelude To A Friendly Neighborhood Freefall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wasp and Hawkeye banter about nonsense. Cap and Carol work out rigorously. Peter's inability to leave the past is sheltered in secrecy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hardly do any of these 'Bonus' chapters. Guess I'm in a giving mood. It's Christmas time. It might be that the Lightning won the Stanley Cup around September. Whatever the case, I'm feeling good so far. Enjoy the bonus one-shot! Happy Holidays!

-Few hours later

“I’m telling you, Jan: _Die Hard_ is a timeless Christmas movie. It has all the elements: Wintery weather, engaging romance, and feel-good moments such as Hans Gruber’s demise.”

“Clinton, only air-headed loudmouths like yourself would label a repugnant, testosterone-fueled junkfest like _Die Hard_ a Christmas movie. So what if it takes place on Christmas Day? It does not make it a holiday film.”

The incomparable marksman codenamed Hawkeye, Clint Barton, wagged his left-handed index finger at his petite co-worker, Janet Van Dyne. “It’s actually on Christmas Eve.”

The winsome Wasp scoffed in exasperation, briskly waving her right hand at Clint’s face as they approached the double doors of the training room. The bantering pair were each wearing fitness apparel that featured their respective color schemes and carried duffel bags and exercise mats, ready for a nice morning workout. “Whatever. It’s insufferable, just like you.”

Clint lightly shrugged his shoulders. “So why’d you drag me for your workout instead of Scott Lang?”

“First of all, Scott and I are friends. Second, he’s currently occupied elsewhere. Probably doing an experiment at R&D.”

“Okay, so how about… Tony and Rhodey?”

“Haven’t been able to reach them. I vaguely overheard Agent Maria Hill saying they’ve taken a trip to France with Natasha as their security detail.”

“Did you try inviting Cap and Carol?”

Stopping at the training room’s entrance, Janet responded, “Couldn’t get a hold of them, either. Unlike the shellheads as you love to call them, I’ve reason to believe the captains are stateside.”

Clint grasped the doorknob of the right-sided door, twisted it and slowly pulled it open for his sassy companion. “So you were left with one other option: Earth’s mightiest marksman. I’m flattered, Jan.”

Jan snorted as she and Clint strolled inside the training facilities. “More like Earth’s mightiest egotist, right next to Iron Man. I’ve NEVER enjoyed a single workout session with you, ever. You’re nothing more than an ally of convenience for my fitness aspirations. Now roll out our exercise mats so we can get a good stretch in before I elegantly dominate you in submission-based combat… Again.”

Clint hunched close to Janet’s right ear as his left-handed index finger pointed towards the elevated boxing ring. “Um, speaking of dominance, I think we’ve found the Boys and Girls Scouts of America.”

Within the confines of the ring’s gray-based canvas, the burly Steve Rogers was entrapped by the lithe and lean Carol Danvers, attempting to squirm his way out of not only a leg scissors ensnaring his midsection, but an arm-looping chokehold around his neck as well. The maneuver was particularly tricky to escape from as Carol had her left hand tightly gripping the wrist of her right arm. “C’mon, you stubborn old man. Tap out already!”

Clawing his hands at the ceiling lights, Steve gurgled out very few syllables: “I… I can-”

Carol rolled her eyes at Steve’s senseless bravado, grunting an agitated sigh. “Cap, don’t you dare say, _‘I can do this all day’_! You can’t do jack shit if you’re unconscious.”

After mere seconds of internal deliberation, Steve finally yielded and repeatedly slapped his right hand on Carol’s choking arm. The half-Kree Avenger released her vice grip on his neck, and the star-spangled soldier rolled away from her spot, rubbing his throat as he coughed a few times.

Crawling on her fours, Carol proceeded to sit in an upright position, knees hunched in front of her chest as her right hand slowly stroked Steve’s upper back in horizontal motions. “You feeling alright, hun?”

Steve swiveled his head at Carol’s direction, a Cheshire grin forming on his lips. “I’ve never felt better, Colonel.”

Scooting herself closer to his side, Carol draped her right arm across his shoulders as she landed a firm peck on his cheek. “Damn, we both smell like shit. I can’t wait for us to jump into the shower. Under the cascading beads of hot water, I can give you some nice massages on your neck, shoulders, chiseled abs… and your finely erected flagpole. In return, I shall grant you access to massaging my sensitive, hard-to-reach places. Sounds like a good deal, right?”

Steve growled out a groan of lust. “You may not be Amora the Enchantress, but I’m always spellbound by you each time you talk dirty to me.”

As Carol diverted her gaze away from Steve, her sights were now set on the unusually complimentary duo of Clint and Janet. “Enjoy the show, peeping toms?”

“Careful with that dirty talk, Missy Marvel. You’ll corrupt our wholesome leader in no time,” the archer beamed mischievously, adjusting his purple-tinted sunglasses.

Carol sneered as she adorned a wry smirk. “How long will it take for you to grow some balls and engage Janet in some sensual pillow talk, Barton?”

Jan flicked out her tongue, turned her head away from Clint and grunted a guttural, gagging sound. “Gross! I’d rather lay in bed with Deadpool than this opiniated chauvinist.”

“Give him time, Jan. He’ll grow on you,” Carol winked at the size-shifting heroine.

On the steel steps propped up next to the ring, one of two smartphones began vibrating. Carol extended her right arm underneath the bottom rope, clutched her handheld communications device and touched the green button to transmit the forthcoming phone call. “Morning, Fury. What’s going on?”

After a minute of inaudible chatter accompanied by her repeated mumblings of “Yes, sir” and “Uh-huh”, Carol concluded the conversation with, “We’re on it, sir. Cap and I will assemble a small team and head on right over.”

Tossing her phone back on the steps, the faux-hawk heroine clasped a fistful of Steve’s sweat-soaked collar, compelling him to rise off the canvas alongside her. “I’ve got SHIELD intel that reports of AIM allegedly committing suspicious activity around the area. We’re gonna do some recon across their nearby compound, but we won’t be infiltrating the premises until we have confirmation of illegal activity. Let me be clear: Observe and report only. Tony and Rhodey are on a business trip in France flanked by Natasha, in case you’re curious about their absence. Captain Rogers and I will coordinate the mission on foot. I don’t suppose you two had anything important to do right now, correct?”

Dropping his duffel bag and exercise mat to the floor, Clint glanced into Janet’s dark brown orbs. “So, raincheck on our workout?”

“I’d rather much have nothing to do with you at all,” Janet scowled, folding her arms.

“Guess that shower’s gonna have to wait, Carebear,” Steve patted Carol’s back with his left hand once. “Say, why don’t we bring Spider-Man along for this operation?”

Carol raised her eyebrows as traces of concern flared within her nerves. “Peter? He’s an excellent photographer, but I’m not sure if he’ll be up for this task given what’s happened to him a few months back.”

With his phone already clutched in his left hand, the good old captain dialed in the wall-crawler’s number. After a couple of rings, the line opened. “Captain! I’m always humbled every time you decide to talk with me. So, how may I be of assistance?”

“We’ve received a recon operation from Nick Fury. We’re preparing ourselves for transportation to an AIM compound, and we believe your photographic skills can be beneficial to us in case we do confirm sightings of criminal behavior.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s scope out the land of bootleg beekeepers!” Steve heard enthusiastic clapping and a jovial disposition in Peter’s voice.

“Peter, are you sure you’re okay? If you’re still feeling emotionally unbalanced, you can skip this op.”

“Oh, Cap! You’re like the worrisome grandpa!” Peter cackled extravagantly, perhaps even by his cringey standards. “Work is the greatest method of releasing one’s inhibitions. I’ll see you and Lady Cap in the armory.”

As the line closed, Steve briefly bent over and slid his phone near the ring apron. Reverting to an upright position, he glanced at his Co-Captain. “He says he’s good to go, Captain. Who am I to stop him from working?”

Carol grasped her chin with her left hand. “I trust your judgment, Rogers. I still don’t believe he’s moved past that night.”

In the confines of his bedroom, Peter Parker fell onto his bed back first, his face covered by both his hands. Tears streamed down his cheeks and in between his fingers as the kind-hearted web slinger hollered at the ceiling in pained anguish. Flipping himself over, he clenched his hands into fists, raised his arms and began a sequence of repeated overhead strikes to the pillow nestled near the headboard. Amidst his one-sided tussle with the fluffy piece of mattress, Peter screamed nonsensical claims like “I’m a failure!”, “I’m no Avenger!”, “It’s like Uncle Ben all over again!”, and “I couldn’t save her!”

Eventually fatigue enveloped his previously restless body, and Peter slumped face first onto the very pillow he devoted his assault towards. Slowly craning his head right, he reached over to a framed photo resting on the left-sided dresser and snatched it with his right hand. His left-handed fingertips traced the figures featured on the picture of that momentous occasion. It was the day of his wedding. There he was, dapper in a tuxedo as he was kissing his stalwart ally, closest friend, and spectacular wife… The amazing Mary Jane Watson, wearing a shimmering white wedding gown. She was gone far too soon.

“I’m frequently putting myself to work because there’s no use in crying within my bedroom all day,” Peter said aloud, not really talking to anyone specifically. “I’m always grieving over you, MJ. But I persistently lie to everyone else by putting on a façade of laughter. I won’t drag them into my emotional quagmires; I gotta solve those on my own. I accept the fact that you’re dead, but I just can’t move past it. I miss you, babe. I miss you every single day.”

Placing the photo back on the dresser, Peter gradually slid off his bed, smoothened the sides of his brown hair, and plastered an Oscar-worthy grin that has fooled every alliance member around him… except himself. “Time to get moving and make the world a better place.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I found out that Wasp and Hawkeye had an illicit affair (behind Hank Pym's back), I thought, 'Damn, this could've been hotter if it was dragged on longer AND if Jan wasn't a married woman, not gonna lie.' I can see their dynamic being similar to the one portrayed between Bobby Drake and Katherine Pryde from the short-lived Wolverine & the X-Men cartoon. Don't know if I should pull the trigger on them. Then again, I'm the same guy who pulled the trigger on not only one, but TWO nonexistent Marvel couples. Oopsie-daisy. Anyway, hope you all have a safe and wonderful Holiday! Thanks for reading. See you next time.


End file.
